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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968674">back &amp; forth (sneaking in your bed)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson'>ivyrobinson</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold'>piecesofgold</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Actors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:21:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968674</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyrobinson/pseuds/ivyrobinson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofgold/pseuds/piecesofgold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now; it’s brighter now.)</p><p>Dmitry shrugs it off. “I don’t think anyone would ever want to deal with the two of us working together again.”</p><p>“Please,” Anya dismisses. “We were never unprofessional when the cameras were actually rolling, and it’s been ten years.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 &amp; Broadway)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2008</b>
</p><p>Dmitry hopes he gets this job. He hopes he gets every job he auditions for, but he really hopes he gets this one. He’s nearly seventeen, has been pushing for legal emancipation since he was fifteen, but none of the jobs he’s ever gotten made him financially independent enough after his manager and agents have taken their cuts. This job could change all that.</p><p>While nearly seventeen was nearly eighteen and then he’d be an actual adult, even one less year in the foster system was better than nothing at all.</p><p>This job was based on a popular trilogy of books called the Gehenna Trials. He’d read the books when they were first out, everyone at his school had and so booking one movie could guarantee booking all three.</p><p>Dmitry has grown up in Los Angeles. His father, Constantine, had first moved out to California to pursue his own acting dreams but hadn’t gotten very far. Once married to Dmitry’s mother, Valerie, and Dmitry was born he had taken more and more odd jobs to help support his family. After his wife died, he auditioned less for acting jobs and had begun his hand at writing screenplays.</p><p>His first acting jobs were in his own living room, speaking the words of characters his father had created in his mind. Constantine passed away nearly five years before, but acting was something Dmitry hadn’t ever given up on.</p><p>It’s something he’s good at, he knows that. He can feel himself molding into someone else when he takes on a new role. Hollywood is a tough town and talent, charm and good looks could only get you so far. His resume is filled with shampoo commercials and guest stints on CW and Disney Plus shows, and one independent movie he had done right before his father had passed away. All the money he had made on that ended up going towards funeral and other various expenses.</p><p>This is his fourth call back for Gehenna, he’s trying not to get his hopes up too much but it’s certainly starting to look promising.</p><p>“Sudayev.” A suit pokes his head out to the waiting room to call him in.</p><p>Dmitry rolls up his script in his hands nervously as he follows him into a room with even more suits.</p><p>He unrolls it as he stands in front of them, though the words are memorized by now.</p><p>“Forget about those,” a woman with black hair dismisses it. “We are going to have to do a chemistry read with the young actress we have playing Willow.”</p><p>Dmitry looks around, not finding a single soul close to his age in the room. “Sure, who is that?”</p><p>“Anastasia Romanova,” says another suit, not glancing up from their notes.</p><p>They don’t say more but they don’t have to say more. Everyone knows the Romanov family, but especially everyone that has any interest in acting.</p><p>The family has given birth to generation after generation of successful actors for as long as the profession has existed, or at least so it’s seemed. Anastasia is from the current generation. One of five children, all of them taking up as many child actor roles as they can.</p><p>One of the biggest theaters on Broadway boasts their name. Her father has at least three different action figures of characters he’s played.</p><p>And it looks like she's late to this thing they’re doing now, as no one is getting up to pull her into the room.</p><p>Dmitry also is aware he needs to keep his patience and temper in check and can’t say anything disparaging towards a member of the most influential family in Hollywood.</p><p>“She’ll be here shortly,” speaks up another, but doesn’t really offer any explanation more than that. “You can sit and relax.”</p><p>He sees now the two folding chairs in the middle of the room and walks over and sits in it. He’s a person that needs to be prepared. He can deal with adapting to changes, like having to act against someone else instead of reading sides once more. What he can’t do is wait and wait and maintain the focus he needs for the audition.</p><p>A few moments the door opens and a small girl around his age stumbles in.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” she says to the suits as two of them rush over to collect her belongings. “I lost track of the time.”</p><p>“You’re fine,” the woman with the jet black hair assures her. “Always a pleasure to see you, Anastasia.”</p><p>“You as well, Kelli,” she offers, as she takes the empty seat, smoothing at her skirts and not once glancing over at Dmitry.</p><p>“We thought you two could read from these sides today,” Kelli says, walking over to hand them fresh pages.</p><p>Anastasia looks confused at the mention of two, and finally glances over, noticing Dmitry for the first time. “Oh. Hello.”</p><p>“Hi,” Dmitry returns, looking down at the new dialogue.</p><p>He’s not certain why he’s so unsettled by her eyes on him, a very clear and bright blue. The Romanovs have always been famous for their blue eyes, seeing them in person shouldn’t throw him off like this. Perhaps it’s because he’s still annoyed by her tardiness and the fact that she almost definitely hadn’t needed to go throw a single audition for this role.</p><p>Dmitry can’t tell if she’s flustered or merely unprepared, but she looks at the sides she was handed, looks over to him and then back to the sides. The first line belongs to her.</p><p>“You’re Willow,” he offers in a whisper, may or may not be sarcastic when he says it.</p><p>Anastasia focuses enough to shoot him an annoyed look.</p><p>“Good,” one of the suits says. “We are starting.”</p><p>Dmitry grits his teeth, knowing he can’t say anything because he knows it doesn’t matter to them who stars opposite Anastasia. She’s there to stay. Everyone else is inconsequential.</p><p>“Listen,” she sighs. “Roman…” his character’s name is Ronan. No one speaks up to correct her. “It’s not what you think it is.”</p><p>He leans forward, determined to get a good audition out of this. “Then what is it?”</p><p>“It’s…” her eyes meet his and she stumbles some more. “It’s…”</p><p>“They have my sister,” an assistant in the corner with a script in his hand calls over.</p><p>Anastasia lets out a breath, “Right. Of course, I’m sorry,” she says that to them, before turning back to him. “They have my sister.”</p><p>“Your sister?” He asks, startled. “You haven’t...why haven’t you mentioned her before?” </p><p>She smiles wryly, finally in the moment. “You weren’t much interested in getting to know me.” </p><p>Dmitry-as Ronan- bristles, “I’ve been trying to save your life.” </p><p>She looks back at her script, “It’s not what you think it is.” She’s already said that line. Anastasia looks down, frustrated. “I mean.” </p><p>He resists the urge to roll his eyes and carries on anyway like they’re on a stage and the show must go on, because otherwise they may be here all night. </p><p>“Will,” he says softly, reaching over to brush his knuckle underneath her chin, capturing her attention. “It can’t be just you anymore.” </p><p>She gulps, lip quivering, blue eyes doe like, “I- I-“ Anastasia is struggling again, but their eyes are locked and there’s a sudden hush in the room.</p><p>Finally Kelli takes pity on them, clearing her throat, and Anastasia and Dmitry break apart, chairs screeching against the floor as they move. “I think that’s enough for today. Thank you both for coming in.”</p><p>It feels like a waste of time, he thinks as he grabs his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door.</p><p>Anastasia pushes past him, running over towards an older woman, who says something to her, and pats her hand. Dmitry pulls open the door to make his way back to the bus stop.</p><p>It might be worth it, he thinks, to spend another year or so in foster care rather than having to work with someone as scattered and spoiled as her.</p><p>It won’t matter, after that disastrous experience, he is probably the last person they’d ever consider calling back for this role.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>2019</b>
</p><p>She calls Dmitry while waiting for the metro; he picks up at the second ring.</p><p>“How goes the interrogation?” He asks in greeting.</p><p>“Thankfully over,” Anya tells him dryly. “My mother had quite a few recommendations for me this time.”</p><p>“Oh?” She can picture the arch of his eyebrow from his tone alone. “Anyone interesting?”</p><p>Her mouth quirks, finger curled in her earphone wire. “Some businessmen my father knows, one of Olga’s friends, that guy who was in the romcom last Christmas, whatever his name is.” She pauses, glancing up and down the platform. “Zborovsky again.”</p><p>That earns a laugh from him. “She’s never going to be over that breakup.”</p><p>“Think she was more upset about it than I was.” To be fair, her mother's approval of who her children date doesn’t extend very far beyond a specific circle. Anya clears her throat. “Have you eaten? I can pick something up on the way.”</p><p>“Nah, had Shake Shack with Marfa after her audition,” he tells her. “And your script arrived, by the way, if you want to go over lines tonight.”</p><p>She grimaces. “Tomorrow, maybe.” Something makes her look up, years old instinct of being watched making her skin prickle. There’s a young girl staring at her, frowning unabashedly. Anya grits her teeth and tries to hide her face, the wall rumbling as the train gets closer. “My place in an hour?”</p><p>“Done.” Out of habit, his voice lowers. “Love you.”</p><p>Anya bites back a smile. “You too,” is all she says, in case the girl who has very obviously recognised her now overhears.</p><p>Cell tucked away, her mind goes back to her mother not-so-subtly pressing her about finding someone to <em> settle down with</em>, and Alexei’s eye roll alongside Maria’s dig of, “Mama, who are you, Mrs Bennett?”</p><p>She tugs at the thin gold chain around her neck, it’s pendant resting at the hollow of her throat, and wonders what her family will think when she introduces them to her husband.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>note: the gehenna trials is the (fictional) film trilogy anya and dmitry initially meet on; cosette is a tv show anya is the title character of - cat.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2008</b>
</p><p>“Who’s Dmitry Sudayev?”</p><p>Anya cracks an eye open. “What?”</p><p>Careful not to wake Alexei, Maria holds her phone out from the other side of the bed. “The Gehenna love interest,” she elaborates. “He’s cute.”</p><p>Anya squints at the article on her sister's screen. <em> GEHENNA TRIALS: UP-AND-COMER T0 STAR ALONGSIDE ROMANOVA</em>, the headline reads above headshots of them both. She wracks her brain to place Dmitry’s face; with everything going on with Alexei, Anya had all but forgotten about the movie. He had been admitted to hospital the night before the chemistry reading - she barely remembers it.</p><p>It’s the phantom feeling of knuckles brushing under her chin that brings the memory rushing back. <em> It can’t be just you anymore. </em>Thinly veiled sarcasm and impatient eyes rolling at her blunders.</p><p>Anya pulls a face, dropping her chin back into her arms on the bed. “Dunno,” she says flatly. “Seemed like a bit of a dick.”</p><p>“Language, Nastya,” Tatiana reprimands her, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Anya automatically straightens up.</p><p>“You’ve only met him once,” Maria points out. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. Maybe you’ll be friends during filming.”</p><p>Anya highly doubts that, but says nothing. Instead she looks up at Tatiana. “How’s mom?”</p><p>Tatiana sighs. “Sleeping, finally. Dad’s dealing with the press.” She reaches over to smooth Maria’s hair down. “You two don’t need to hover, I can stay with him.”</p><p>Anya bites her lip, glancing at her brother. He looks better than he did a week ago, but he’s still sickly pale and bruised. It’d been a bad fall, and she’s trying not to think about it, or how close they had come to Alexei’s illness being made public.</p><p>“It’s not a matter of shame, Anastasia,” her father had explained to her once. “It’s about privacy. Being in the public eye doesn’t mean we have to give them every part of ourselves.”</p><p>Her parents have always been fiercely protective of their family’s privacy, something they drilled into Anya and her siblings whenever their rebellious antics made it into tabloid news. It had tightened all the more with Alexei’s condition, on top of all their daughters deciding to follow them into the industry and the scrutiny it came with.</p><p>Anya had her PR training from Lily at thirteen. She can handle it.</p><p>Maria is obviously not ready to drop their conversation. “It’ll be good for you, you know,” she supplies, following Anya to her room. “Make friends outside of our -” she waves a hand.</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes. “Now you sound like Tanya.” Part of her understands her sister's desire to talk about literally anything else other than their brother's condition, but she wishes it wasn’t this.</p><p>Maria pinches her arm. “You never know, Nastya,” she says, glancing at the phone her own agent has been calling for the last hour. “Sudayev might grow on you.”</p><p>Anya scoffs. “I highly doubt that.”</p><hr/><p><b>2019</b> <b></b></p><p>Dmitry always awakens before Anya. He’s not certain if she’s a late riser or if she just likes to burrow against him for as long as possible on the nights they’re together. Married nearly half a year now and still so much to learn about each other.</p><p>Anya groans and squeezes his hand when he moves to get up.</p><p>“It’s cold when you leave,” she protests, keeping his arm secure around her.</p><p>He laughs, kissing the explosion of freckles on her shoulder. “What do you do when I’m not here?”</p><p>She rolls onto her back to look up at him. “For starters, keep more blankets on my bed than this.”</p><p>“Who knew Anastasia Romanova could be so accommodating?” He teases, leaning down to kiss her on the lips.</p><p>“She’s not,” Anya responds, pressing the palm of her hand against his chest. “But Anastasia Sudayeva has a bit of a soft spot for you.”</p><p>“I appreciate all versions of you,” Dmitry says, resting his forehead against her collarbone. “Did you want to go through your lines today?”</p><p>“No,” she says, fingers working their way through his hair. “Just want to lay in bed with you.” </p><p>“Being a wife makes you a lazy actress,” he comments, and she gasps in offense. “What if I made you coffee?”</p><p>“Maybe,” Anya places a kiss against his temple. It gets more and more difficult when they have to live apart these days. “What if you made me breakfast, too?”</p><p>“I’m pulling a lot of weight for your career,” he mock complains, but rolls off her anyway. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants as he gets out of bed. “Grab your script when you get up.”</p><p>Anya rolls onto her stomach in response.</p><p>He’s halfway done making pancakes and has a cup of coffee for each of them when Anya pads out to her kitchen, rubbing her eyes.</p><p>She wraps her arms around his midsection, her cheek pressed against his back.</p><p>“If I knew you could make pancakes I would’ve been nicer to you when we were younger,” she says against his back.</p><p>Dmitry laughs. “My pancake making skills weren’t what they are now when I was seventeen.”</p><p>“Oh, then I stand by the choices of my youth,” she says, and releases him to pick up her coffee cup. “Mmm. Hazelnut.”</p><p>“So, <em> Cosette</em>,” he begins.</p><p>Anya puts up her index finger to stop him. “It’s too early for you to sing any <em> Les Mis </em> at me.” He opens his mouth and she shakes her head. “You’ve done it at least twice and I need to finish my coffee before you even begin to think about it.”</p><p>Dmitry rolls his eyes and grabs a plate he had set aside to place the pancakes on. “I can eat all these pancakes by myself.”</p><p>“But you won’t,” she says, taking the plate from him. </p><p>“Now that you’ve escaped, what exactly is the plan?”</p><p>Anya raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of her coffee. “Did you memorize my script?”</p><p>“Photographic memory,” he reminds her, tapping the temple of his head.</p><p>“You know,” she says, chewing her pancakes thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t make a half bad Finn.”</p><p>Dmitry shrugs it off. “I don’t think anyone would ever want to deal with the two of us working together again.”</p><p>“Please,” Anya dismisses. “We were never unprofessional when the cameras were actually rolling, and it’s been ten years.”</p><p>“Don’t you think it’ll invite a lot of attention if we’re working together?” He asks, grabbing his cup of coffee and sitting in the chair next to her.</p><p>They haven’t really figured out the plan for their marriage. It just sort of happened and still, with the exception of Marfa, Dunya, Polly and their agents, no one knew. They hadn’t told her family and they enjoyed the privacy the secret allowed.</p><p>“Probably less if we have a reason to be around each other than if we keep hanging out,” Anya points out, reaching over to take his hand. “And remember the three weeks we spent apart right after we got married?” He nods. “Never again.”</p><p>He smiles at that. “I’m not certain if that’s a good enough basis to give me a job.”</p><p>“Okay,” she says, sitting back. “Do these lines with me and then see if you want to reach out to Vlad about it.”</p><p>It’s tempting. Not only on the personal level of wanting to work with his wife but he didn’t appreciate working with Anya enough when they were younger. The first movie of Gehenna Trials was riddled with miscommunication and misunderstandings and aggravations. The second one had been peaceful and mellow, a tentative truce formed between them and the third one… well, the third one had been tension filled and stressful and messy.</p><p>None of this was reflected on screen. Watching those movies now you couldn’t see a hint of their behind the scenes life, and they had a captivating sort of chemistry.</p><p>Dmitry clears his throat. “Now that you’ve escaped, what exactly is the plan?”</p><p>Anya leans back, tapping her fingers against the table. “The plan is to let the universe guide me. It has yet to steer me wrong.”</p><p>“This the same universe that had you locked away for twenty years?”</p><p>Moments like this, them practicing their craft together over breakfast makes the most impulsive decision of his life also the best decision of his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>for the sake of everyone's escapism, there's no pandemic happening here. we're not that cruel. - cat.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2008</b>
</p><p>Dmitry finds one of the few people he actually knows currently in his apartment and picks her up and spins her around as a greeting.</p><p>“I thought I said small gathering,” he tells her and Marfa Spektor laughs.</p><p>“Calm down,” she responds, stepping out of his arms and patting him on the cheek. “Your apartment isn’t even at capacity.”</p><p>Marfa has been cast as Ronan’s best friend, Maeve, but most importantly she was one of the first friends he made when he started acting. She’s just finished up a seven year stint on a popular sitcom, and he spent five episodes pretending to be her boyfriend.</p><p>They’ve been good friends ever since.</p><p>“Who are all these people?” He asks.</p><p>Dmitry hadn’t planned on doing anything for his seventeenth birthday, but Vlad has insisted he do something. “You have so much to celebrate this year- your birth, your emancipation, a new apartment and a new job. Go have fun. Just don’t end up in jail or the tabloids.”</p><p>So he had called Marfa, because Marfa knows everyone and suddenly almost two dozen people are in his brand new apartment. His apartment is several blocks and a world away from the one he had grown up in with his father. And about the same distance from the foster homes he had been in for the past five years.</p><p>Originally he had intended to stay in that neighborhood, it was familiar and comforting even if it wasn’t a pretty side of Los Angeles but Vlad has balked at that. Said living in a better neighborhood would’ve an investment for his career. And he wouldn’t have to be worried for his life when he comes to visit Dmitry. Dmitry was fairly certain one of those was more important to Vlad than the other.</p><p>“You know Gleb,” Marfa dismisses the nineteen year old actor who played her main love interest on her old show. “He’s dating Sophie, who I’m sure you’ve met.” She points over to a blonde girl and a dark haired girl. “That’s Polly and Dunya, they’re in the movie with us too. We met in the audition room and have kept in touch ever since we were all cast.” Marfa truly can’t breathe without befriending a fellow actor. “You should mingle.”</p><p>“I’ve been mingling,” he promises her, as Gleb walks over to them.</p><p>“Oh good,” Marfa greets him, “Both of you get in a photo with me, we can revive the love triangle.”</p><p>Gleb rolls his eyes but stands behind her as she throws her arm around Dmitry and pulls him in as she snaps a photo.</p><p>“Don’t you have a love interest of your very own you should be staging photos with?” Gleb asks him.</p><p>Ah yes, Anastasia Romanova. He’s not even surprised to not see her here tonight.</p><p>Dmitry glances over at Marfa, “Did you invite her?”</p><p>Marfa shakes her head, “I don’t have her contact info.” She looks over again at Dunya and Polly, who are talking to one of Dmitry’s costars from a movie he had done the year prior. “Neither did they. You didn’t get her number?”</p><p>“Yes, right after she called my character by the wrong name,” he responds, this time he is the one to roll his eyes. “I doubt she’d want to lower herself to hanging out with the likes of us.”</p><p>Gleb snorts, and Marfa smacks him in the shoulder.</p><p>“Don’t listen to Glebka,” Marfa warns him. “He’s holding a generational grudge against the Romanov family from the time Nicholas won the Oscar over his father.”</p><p>“He won it for playing an action figure,” Gleb says, disgusted. “My father played a complex and tragic figure in a beautiful original story.” Marfa sighs, clearly having heard this story multiple times before. “The Romanovs her everything simply for being Romanovs.”</p><p>It pains Dmitry to agree with Gleb about anything. He’s half tempted to rethink his first impression of the youngest daughter but then remembers blank blue eyes and not even a half assed attempt to read her script that day.</p><p>“Your father’s numerous other awards mean nothing, clearly,” Marfa waves off Gleb’s glare at that. Apparently Oscar was the only one that mattered to the Vaganovs. She tugs on Dmitry’s hand. “Let’s go make new friends, Mitya.”</p><p>Dmitry laughs and follows her into the crowd. He spends a good hour or so mingling, and realizes he does know more people here than he recalled. Marfa orders some cupcakes that arrive, and she makes sure to embarrass him by having everyone sing Happy Birthday to him. His apartment slowly thins out after that, until there’s just a handful left.</p><p>A blonde girl approaches him, and he instantly recognizes her as Paulina Laskin. They’d be introduced earlier, briefly, but he mostly recognizes her because she looks like someone who would be cast as a relative of Anastasia’s.</p><p>“The casting people did a good job,” he remarks to her.</p><p>She laughs, “Years of being cast as a Romanov type finally paying off.” Polly glances over at him. “You’ve met her?”</p><p>Dmitry nods, “We read together.” If you could call it that.</p><p>“Kind of surprised not to see her here tonight then,” Polly says. “A real cast bonding session before it all starts.”</p><p>“Marfa didn’t know her contact information,” Dmitry shrugs. He also is aware the excuse is a weak cop out. He could have Vlad easily find contact information for her- he’s always bragging about his ties to the most influential people in the business. But he hasn’t bothered.</p><p>She arches an eyebrow at that, knowing what bullshit it was. “Didn’t exchange information at the read?”</p><p>He sighs, it seems to be the question everyone is asking him. “I don’t think she even noticed I was actually in the room with her.”</p><p>“Ah,” Polly says, “Well first impressions aren’t everything.” It’s her turn to shrug. “There’s plenty of time for all of us to hang out later.”</p><p>Dmitry nods, but he thinks the outcome of Anastasia Romanova deigning to hang out with them does not seem very likely.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>2020</b>
</p><p>There’s a fig tree outside their villa. Every time they leave, Dmitry reaches up and pulls a few off, offering one to Anya with a triumphant smile.</p><p>She’s burned and he’s browned under Santorini’s spring sun, freckles emphasised across their shoulders and her cheeks. There’s a tottering bus that takes them to Perivolos Beach most days, or to the middle of Thera. Anya frowns at guidebooks until Dmitry takes them from her hands and says they should get lost for a while.</p><p>Anya thought Vlad and Lily were going to have a joint heart attack when she mentioned she and Dmitry wanted to spend their anniversary abroad, but it hadn’t taken much convincing after a promise of letting the pair of them have their own vacation there, too.</p><p>“Are we being unfair?” Anya asked on the flight over, glancing sideways at their agents glued to their phones. She owes Lily a lifetime of favours at this point.</p><p>Dmitry chucked, kissing the top of her head. “I think they’ve learned to expect it.”</p><p>Anya doesn’t say it’s the last peace any of them will have before filming starts. She’s trying not to think about it.</p><p>He gawks at white walls and blue rooftops, spirals of glass tiles embedded in concrete and winding stone staircases. Anya squeezes his arm and smiles, finally relaxed knowing this is the honeymoon they never got to have.</p><p>No one pays them any mind the whole fortnight they’re there, and if they’re recognised it never shows up anywhere else.</p><p>It’s April, so there aren’t many tourists around, and they suddenly have no qualms about touching one another. His hands are always on her back or shoulders and she kisses his face without anyone giving a second look. They go out to dinner every night in strings of cozy restaurants, and Anya eats more honey pastries than she has in her entire life. Dmitry’s eyes shine watching any sort of food being prepared, eager to deconstruct recipes.</p><p>“I think you missed your true calling as a chef,” Anya teases, reaching over to wipe dipping oil from the side of his mouth.</p><p>Dmitry nods, mouth still full of bread. “I’m wasted as an actor,” he says, faux solemnly.</p><p>“Well, when the work dries out, that can be our fallback plan,” she tells him, only half joking.</p><p>Dmitry raises an eyebrow, then wordlessly offers his pinky finger. Anya doesn’t even think before she links her own with his.</p><p>It’s a nice dream.</p><p>On the morning of their anniversary, Dmitry goes for a run before the sun is even up, then wakes her up with a slow kiss and a bag of pastries. Anya drags him forward, and laughs against her mouth when he lands ungracefully on top of her.</p><p>“How was the run?” She yawns.</p><p>“Quiet,” he says, chin resting on her chest. “Got a bit lost, baker had to point me back.”</p><p>“Hence the pastries.”</p><p>He nods. “Winery today, right?”</p><p>Anya nods, biting her lip. “Not for hours, though.” She wonders if they have time to go to the beach beforehand; they’ve probably spent more time between the black sand and blue water than they have anywhere else.</p><p>Dmitry grins. “Not for hours,” he repeats, leaning up to kiss her, hands pushing down the thin cotton sheet between them.</p><p>The pastries stay in a bag on the side, forgotten while her nails dig into his arms and his mouth moves over her skin.</p><p>“How many different beds do you think you’ve slept in, since you were seventeen?” She asks later, still catching her breath.</p><p>Dmitry squints, confused. “Is this a trick question?” </p><p>“No!” Anya laughs. “I’m not asking how many <em> people </em> you’ve slept with in those beds. I actually don’t want to know,” she adds. “I mean, it must be hundreds and hundreds, if not thousands, right?”</p><p>“Beds, not people,” Dmitry clarifies, nodding. “It’s been nice, waking up next to you this year.”</p><p>Anya tugs lightly at his hair. Sun and sea salt have curled it over his forehead and around his ears, has bleached her own startlingly blonde.</p><p>“Happy anniversary,” she says softly.</p><p>He smiles. “Happy anniversary,” he echoes, ducking down to kiss her, fingers finding the chain around her neck. Still, he looks hesitant pulling back.</p><p>Anya pokes his dimple. “What is it?”</p><p>Dmitry’s gaze is unwavering on her. “Do you think we should tell your family?” </p><p>Anya groans, trying to pull the sheet up over her head.</p><p>“I know, I know,” Dmitry laughs, tugging it from her eyes. “But we’re going to have to eventually.”</p><p>“I <em> was</em>, we will,” she protests, chewing her lip. “It’s just -” She doesn’t really know how to say it.</p><p>She really, truly had meant to tell her family, at least before the one year mark. But time had slipped away and every time became the ‘next time’ until the deadline had surpassed entirely. At this point it won’t be a happy response from her parents, her mother especially. Lily knowing before any of them will just be salt in the wound, too.</p><p>To be honest, part of her suspects Maria and Alexei might already know - though Polly has promised again and again that she and the others have said nothing.</p><p>Dmitry is still watching her. Anya swallows.</p><p>“They’re gonna be pissed,” she warns him.</p><p>“Most likely for a while,” he agrees. “But they’re not going to go running to the press about it, either.”</p><p>Okay, maybe that was the other thing she’s been worried about. It’s a bubble life, here in this villa in Greece. She doesn’t know if she wants reality to rush back in yet, with rehearsals and filming and not being able to touch her own husband properly.</p><p>If it wasn’t for knowing exactly what the media and general publics response would be to them suddenly being married, given their past...</p><p>“Plus.” Dmitry taps her shoulder, breaking her train of thought. “I’d really like to be able to spoil my nieces and nephews.”</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes fondly. “Fine, <em> but</em>,” she stops him. “After filming? When they’re less likely to kill us both with witnesses?”</p><p>She can see he doesn’t like that, having to wait another six months, but he also knows she won’t budge about it.</p><p>“Six months,” he accepts, sighing and stroking her hair. “You owe me one.”</p><p>Anya kisses him. “I owe you a lot.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2008</b>
</p><p>Contrary to what everyone else seems to think, Anya is used to feeling out of place in Hollywood, even with her name and so-called family legacy. Especially with less known young actors, who are either intimated or just point-blank don’t like her. The circle of friends she has doesn’t really extend past her siblings and a few from her parents circles. She’s learned to expect the hostility and awkwardness around others her own age.</p><p>“You’re just young, dear,” Lily had said dismissively when Anya had brought it up, sounding unnervingly like her mother. “You have plenty of time to make friends.”</p><p>Still, it stings seeing the photos circulating from Sudayev’s birthday party. No one had invited or even bothered telling her about it.</p><p>Well, if he wasn’t going to put the effort in for any sort of connection between them, neither would Anya.</p><p>The first read through goes about as well as it could. Anya sits on a couch between the girl who is playing Willow’s younger sister, Juniper, and Dmitry. It’s the first time they’ve been in a room together since the chemistry read weeks ago, and going by the glances exchanged between the rest of the cast and creative team, it shows.</p><p>“Where did you come from, anyway?” Dmitry-as-Ronan asks, looking over at her.</p><p>Anya-as-Willow squints at him suspiciously, knowing everyone watching sees her character's guard slip. “About twenty miles from here,” she confesses.</p><p>His eyes widen a fraction; Anya has to admit he’s very good. Neither of them are looking at the script, eyes fixed on one another. “I didn’t think anyone lived beyond that tree line anymore.”</p><p>She scoffs. “They wouldn’t <em> want </em>someone like you to know.”</p><p>His eyebrows shoot up. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” He demands, incredulous.</p><p>There’s that odd hush in the room again - this time Anya can feel it, the so-called magic her father swears upon “when you find the right partner, Nastya.” Her grip tightens on her script, eyes still locked with his.</p><p>“Just think about it,” she explains flatly. “What would your leaders do if their people found out everyone they’re supposed to hate is just beyond those trees?”</p><p>Dmitry’s face flickers, as if remembering he’s not really Ronan and she’s not Willow. The entire room has gone still, only broken by the director clearing her throat.</p><p>“We’ll leave it there for now,” she announces, and everyone deflates, grabbing their bags and coats and styrofoam coffee cups.</p><p>Dmitry barely gives a second look before he’s out the door, making Anya grind her teeth. Okay then. This is how it’s going to go.</p><p>Someone taps her shoulder while she lingers in the corridor, waiting for Lily to tell her the car is outside. She turns to see Juniper’s actress smiling at her, her hand extended.</p><p>“Hi,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”</p><p>Hastily, Anya combs through her memory of the brief introductions that had circled around at the beginning of the session. “Paulina, right?” She remembers, relief flooding her when the other girl nods and clasps her hand.</p><p>“Polly,” she corrects. “You did great just now.”</p><p>Anya fights not to duck her head, though her cheeks definitely flare up. “You were amazing,” she diverts honestly, because Polly is an absolute spitfire. The casting directors did a good job - Polly’s the same age as her but gets away looking a few years younger. “Reminds me of my actual sisters.”</p><p>Polly laughs. “Well, playing you in all those Lifetime movies finally paid off.” She’s leaning against the wall too, tilting her head at Anya. “You and Dmitry…”</p><p>Now Anya does roll her eyes. “You saw that.”</p><p>“Hard not to. And you weren’t at the party.”</p><p>“Wasn’t invited.” She shrugs. “If he’s not making the effort, why should I?”</p><p>Polly’s mouth twitches. “Real mature, both of you.” She clears her throat. “Are you busy right now?”</p><p>Anya blinks, glancing down at her phone. Still nothing from Lily. “Why?”</p><p>“We’re grabbing something to eat.” Polly looks pointedly past her, to the two other girls apparently waiting for her - Marfa and Dunya, if she remembers correctly. “And if you’re going to be my sister for the next three years, we could start with fries.”</p><p>Part of her wants to decline, wants to go back home and memorise her script to be prepared for tomorrow. And yet there’s the overbearing part that craves the conversation and company with girls her own age.</p><p>That’s the part that wins out.</p><p>Anya grins, hoping she doesn’t seem too eager. “Sure.”</p><p>She can tell Lily not to wait up.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>2020</b>
</p><p>Moving to Scotland to film <em> Cosette </em>after being in Greece is sort like hopping from bubble to the next. Except, this time, they are surrounded by people who very much know who they are.</p><p>He and Anya share an apartment while the one he’s supposed to be using remains rather unoccupied, so there’s a touch of their Los Angeles life here too.</p><p>He’s ready and in costume far before Anya is. Upon their arrival they had fretted over how blonde Anya’s hair had gotten, and had been working on toning it back to her natural hue. </p><p>Dmitry had wandered around the set, talking to the crew and had sent his assistant away to do whatever he wanted while he wasn’t needed. </p><p>Eventually he finds himself back at the makeup trailer, letting himself in as the team worked hard to cover up all the freckles that had popped out during their trip to Greece.</p><p>Dmitry’s kissed every single one of them.</p><p>She’s in her dress, the neckline low and her corset has pushed everything up. Her hair is back to a more honey color and ringlets frame her face.</p><p>Anya has the ability to knock the breath straight from him no matter what she’s wearing. (He remembers the weird pull of his heart seeming to skip a beat the first time he saw her in costume as Willow. Ripped jeans, and a hoodie that fell past her hands and he had labeled it as him feeling annoyed in her presence but he knows what it is now.)</p><p>“You look stunning,” he greets her, because he can’t not say the words.</p><p>One of the make up artists fingers are clamped around Anya’s chin when she goes to turn her head at the sound of his voice, holding her where she is. </p><p>“Vrphm vew,” comes her muffled reply.</p><p>“Don’t distract her,” Bridgette, the woman in charge of the makeup department, warns him, the pointy end of her brush sticking out at him. “You’ll wreck my canvas.” </p><p>Anya’s face is free now so she can talk, once they’re certain she’s not going to turn her actual head. She makes eye contact with him in the mirror. “Not all of us can be done in fifteen minutes because we’re so naturally good looking.” </p><p>Dmitry gestures to his face. “Excuse me, Nastya, but this took twenty minutes.”</p><p>“Oh, then I take it back,” Anya says, waving her hand. “You’re hideous.” </p><p>The make up artists giggle. Right, they should probably tone it down. He tries to remember how they talked back during the second Gehenna movie when they had a tentative friendship but can’t recall much of that. Except for that last day of filming. </p><p>“Okay, Anastasia,” Bridgette says. “You’re set.” She looks between the two of them. “Make sure to not smudge anything.” </p><p>Dmitry offers his hand to help her up. “You look very much like a lost princess.” </p><p>“Thanks, I think,” she says. And then a moment later tugs her hand away. Oh right. “We have about twenty minutes before we’re on the call sheet if you want to run lines.”</p><p>“Yes,” Dmitry says, and then wonders if he should play it a little cooler. “I mean, if that’s what you want to do.”</p><p>Bridgette shoos them out of the trailer. Anya starts giggling once they’re in hers. </p><p>“That is the worst acting I’ve ever seen you do,” she tells him, and pushes his face away. “No, you heard Bridgette, no smudging.”  </p><p>Dmitry kisses her palm instead when she removes it from his face. “Where should I kiss you then?” </p><p>“Nowhere,” she scolds him, but does tilt her head back as he drops a kiss below her collarbone. “You couldn’t stop looking at my breasts.” </p><p>“I was just admiring your corset,” he says, and she pinches his arm. “Does it feel okay to wear?” </p><p>“Yeah.” She looks down, her own hands pressing against the boning. “They made sure...are you just asking this to see if I’ll wear it outside of work?”</p><p>Dmitry shrugs, his thumb brushing against the swell of her breast. “It’s a good look on you.”</p><p>He sits on her couch, his hands feeling the skirt of her dress.</p><p>“You’re such a guy,” Anya sighs. “What are you doing now?” </p><p>Dmitry pulls the skirt up a bit. “Just curious about what sort of historical underwear they have you in.”</p><p>“Pretty sure the entire makeup department knows what you’re about,” Anya tells him. </p><p>“A little sexual tension between co stars is healthy,” he points out, reaching under her skirt, finding her bare above her thighs. “Is this historically accurate or just convenient for me?”</p><p>Anya takes her skirts from him but lifts them up a bit higher. “Both. And you can’t mess up your hair. We have less than fifteen minutes left.”</p><p>“You’re bossy like a Princess too,” he comments before kissing the inside of her thigh. </p><p>“Can punish you like one too,” she says, “If you don’t finish what you insisted on starting in time.” </p><p>Dmitry’s tempted to put that to the test but then she’s opened up to him, so instead he places his mouth over her and makes use of their free time with several minutes to spare to right himself. Leaving her arriving on time and him only a couple minutes late to their call time.</p><p>Overall, they’re not doing the best job of not being publicly married on set so far.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>2008</strong>
</p><p>The clothes Ronan wore were far nicer than Dmitry had ever worn before- in his life or for a role, and he finds himself picking at his sleeves in between takes. He’s avoiding Marfa, because she and Dunya went off with Anya, as they were prone to do now. Him and Anya were prone to avoid each other, and he knew it couldn’t last forever. Once their characters start to connect he knows they’ll be expecting more of a connection that they’re currently getting.</p><p>And he knows he has to let go whatever annoyance he feels at Anya, if only for his career. At least it’s mutual. But she still has the upper hand by her legacy. </p><p>He takes the free time to take out his old skateboard around the lot. Ever since he got his license he doesn’t really skateboard anymore, but it helps clear his mind now. </p><p>He stops when he sees a lone figure hanging out by the door. At first he’s slightly concerned that someone's found their way to set but when he gets closer the dark blond hair and blue eyes mark him as a Romanov.</p><p>The brother. He searches his memory for the name. </p><p>“Hey,” Dmitry greets him, walking over, and he slinks closer to the door. “Alexei, right?” </p><p>The boy freezes. “You know who I am?” He takes a small step forward. “People usually only know my sisters.” </p><p>“Easier to remember if there’s just one of you,” he tells him, looking around for another Romanov but he appears to be wandering alone. “I’m…”</p><p>“Dmitry,” Alexei interrupts him, and now it’s his time to be surprised. “Nastya talks about you a lot.” </p><p>Dmitry arches an eyebrow at that. “Nothing good I imagine.” Alexei laughs and ducks his gaze, basically confirming it. “What’re you doing out here?”</p><p>“My sisters and the other girls started talking,” he lets out a long suffering sigh of the younger brother. “About so much girl stuff.” </p><p>“That’s rough,” Dmitry tells him. “That’s also why I’m hiding out from the girls.” </p><p>“You’re really good at that,” Alexei says, gesturing at the skateboard. “I’ve never had one before.” </p><p>He’d probably never had need of one before, and had a driver since he was born. </p><p>“I’m out of practice,” he admits. He presses his toes down on the edge of the board, so the board angles up. “You wanna try?”</p><p>Alexei’s eyes light up. “Can I?”</p><p>Dmitry shrugs and kicks the board over to him. “I don’t see why not. Just keep your balance and go slow.” </p><p>He doesn’t need to be told twice. Alexei gets on the board and then looks lost, so Dmitry adjusts him on the board and walks beside him as he manages a short glide. He’s rather in control and has good footwork. </p><p>“I can do this,” Alexei says, voice full of wonder. “I am doing this.” </p><p>Dmitry laughs. “You’re a natural.”</p><p>Then there’s the door slamming and a rather shrill scream of. “Alexei, what are you doing?” </p><p>It’s enough to break the kids focus and he stumbles on the board, and Dmitry reaches over, easily catching him before he can trip and sets him back on the ground. </p><p>His hands are still on Alexei’s shoulders so he can feel him square them when he goes to respond to Anastasia. “I was learning to skateboard.” </p><p>“You could get hurt, Alyosha,” his sister tells him. “You almost fell.”</p><p>“Because you distracted him,” Dmitry points out. “He was doing fine before.” </p><p>“You’re not involved in this,” she tells him, trying to pull her brother into a hug but Alexei shrugs her off. “What were you thinking?” </p><p>“It looked fun,” he mumbles, and his face is turning red. “Don’t worry about it, Nastya.” </p><p>“You’re lucky I found you,” she hisses at him, reaching over to fuss with his hair, and he pushes her hand away. “Alexei.” </p><p>“<em>Anastasia</em>,” he returns, sneaking a glance at Dmitry who is doing his best to pretend like he’s not hearing this sibling squabble. Alexei is red enough as it is. “I’m twelve, not two. I wasn’t even going one mile per hour.” </p><p>Anya looks very much like she wants to argue with her brother, but very aware Dmitry is right there. So she deflates. “Olga is looking for you, they’re about to head home.” </p><p>“Will you…” Alexei begins to ask. </p><p>She shakes her head and holds up a hand. “Won’t say a word.” Then Alexei is back to what Dmitry assumes is normal, with a bright smile that resembles the one his sister sometimes bestows on their other cast mates. (Never him.) And the one she’s giving her brother in return. “Go!” </p><p>Alexei turns to him. “Thanks Dmitry.”</p><p>“Anytime,” Dmitry returns and holds his fist out. Alexei stares at it for a moment before bumping it with his own. </p><p>He means it too. He seems nicer than his sister and seems stuck in a weirdly overprotective family. </p><p>Alexei runs off in the direction of the door to meet up with his other siblings, leaving Anya and Dmitry alone. Something they hadn’t been. Ever. He waits for her to turn her lecturing onto him but she just stays quiet. </p><p>“Your brother,” Dmitry finally speaks up, and he turns his head because he wasn’t looking at her, they’re not even standing near each other but he can just feel how she tenses. “Seems cool.” </p><p>“Oh.” she blinks, as if the compliment was unexpected. “He is. Thank you.” Then she regains herself, shaking her head. “You’re not.” </p><p>Dmitry just laughs in return as she walks away. </p><hr/><p>
  <b>2020</b>
</p><p>It’s a negotiation neither of them win.</p><p>“It’s <em> one </em>convention,” Lily sighs from Anya’s cell in Dmitry’s hand.</p><p>“It’s a damn vultures den,” Anya shoots back, shoving her set blanket back into it’s trailer cupboard. Edinburgh’s had a warm spell this week, one they’d appreciate were it not for the wind.</p><p>She glances up to see Lily’s pixelated face giving Dmitry an exasperated look, and him holding a hand up in surrender.</p><p>“Well, it was a clause in your contracts,” she persists, waving a wad of papers to the camera. “You have to go.”</p><p>“Couldn’t we just -” Dmitry starts.</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>Lying on her trailer couch, Dmitry tips his head back to pull a face at Anya. Anya tries not to pout; she knows he’s been going in the same circles with Vlad.</p><p>Neither of them have been to any sort of convention since Gehenna, and Anya can’t say it’s something she’s missed. It wasn’t that she’d had a bad experience because of those films - it was more to do with people believing they were entitled to parts of her life that between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, she hadn’t been prepared to share. She’d long suspected that was Dmitry’s reason for turning them down, too.</p><p>Anya has spent most of her twenties reclaiming those boundaries between her private and public life, especially after her relationship with Viktor didn’t survive it. The idea of being pushed back into that position with Dmitry, when they both have so much more to lose and protect, makes her nauseous.</p><p>Their personal feelings are moot-point to what HBO wants from them, though.</p><p>“The two of you are the selling point!” Vlad is reminding them later, watching them pick at the food they picked up on the way back from set. “Your history, your rivalry, the reconciliation!”</p><p>“If this is supposed to be encouraging -” Anya starts.</p><p>“We’re <em> going</em>,” Dmitry interrupts, turning the tablet towards him. “But we’re not discussing any of - <em> that</em>.”</p><p>“It’s sweet that you think we have a choice,” she mutters, loud enough for Vlad to still hear and sigh.</p><p>After they’ve said their goodbyes and promised they won’t bail, Dmitry turns to her. “Maybe it won’t be that bad.”</p><p>Anya narrows her eyes.</p><p>“Okay, not as bad as last time,” he reasons, fork clattering on his empty plate. “We’ll just be careful, we’ve got this far.”</p><p>“I know, but it’s…” Anya trails off, biting the inside of her cheek.</p><p>Their marriage is different here than it is anywhere else. Of course they keep a level of discretion, but it’s an open secret amongst the rest of the cast and crew - that they’re sleeping together, at least, not that they’re married. There’s a margin of comfort with that, one Anya would very much like to keep. She doesn’t want to imagine what will happen if it’s breached.</p><p>“Different, I know.” Dmitry leans over to kiss her. “But it’s only two days, we can manage that.”</p><p>“Can we?” Anya teases lightly, looking down at where their knees are slotted together, his hands resting on her thighs.</p><p>Dmitry’s eyes crinkle at the sides, hands sliding away. “You want to start now?”</p><p>Anya grabs his fingers. “Don’t you dare.”</p><p>He laughs, kissing her forehead and pulling back with their dishes.</p><p>They leave in mid-July, right after her birthday. Anya’s knee refuses to stop jumping on the plane, Dmitry having to rest his fingertips over it for her to stop.</p><p>“Two cars waiting for us at the airport,” he says quietly against her temple, arms pressed together over the armrest.</p><p>Anya frowns. “Two?” Lily hadn’t said anything about that.</p><p>Dmitry is biting the edge of his thumb, eyes on his phone while the flight attendants are beginning their safety demonstration. “We shouldn’t be seen arriving at the hotel together.”</p><p>It stings no matter how much it makes sense with too many eyes around. Anya shifts, something else suddenly dawns on her. “What about the rooms?”</p><p>Dmitry sighs heavily, and that’s answer enough.</p><p>Anya rests her head on his arm, letting him pull her into his side.</p><p>“Two days,” she says hollowly.</p><p>“Two days,” he repeats.</p><p>“Is this getting too much?” Anya forces out, dreading the answer.</p><p>“Not because of you,” Dmitry is quick to answer, kissing the top of her head. “And I asked you to marry me, remember? If this is as extreme as it gets, for <em> two days</em>, so be it.”</p><p>Anya slots their fingers together. “Just say you like the sneaking around, it’s alright.”</p><p>Dmitry smiles, breathing into her hair.</p><p>She tries to sleep through both flights, only managing to snatch about half an hour in the layover lounge in France. Her nerves are frayed, and for all his calm demeanour Dmitry is unable to sit still. At one point during the second flight, he reaches over and squeezes her hand three times - an old signal between them, going back to Gehenna.</p><p>Onlookers be damned, Anya unbuckles her seatbelt and pulls him to her.</p><p><em> Two days</em>, she keeps reminding herself, when he has to pull away from her in San Diego with an unhappy smile. <em> We can do two days</em>.</p><p>It’s a little pathetic, she thinks, because they’ve spent far longer than that apart before he was ever her husband, but - she loves being around him, both at work and in general. Loves living with him in their small Scottish apartment and bouncing her energy off his when they’re on camera. Over a year since they were in that chapel and she’s never stopped loving it.</p><p>Lily meets her in the lobby, wearing that face she has when dealing with Anya’s antics.</p><p>“Don’t even think about sneaking up to his room,” is the first thing she says, pressing a key card into Anya’s hand.</p><p>“Hello, Lily, how was your day, Lily,” Anya deadpans.</p><p>Lily sighs. “My day would be considerably easier if you actually listened to me.”</p><p>Anya puts a hand over her heart, faux hurt. “You wound me.”</p><p>“And I know you too well.” Lily presses for the elevator. “Please, Anastasia, don’t make my job more difficult.”</p><p>Anya smiles sweetly, stepping on. “You know you love me really.”</p><p>“Maybe if you gave me a bonus!” Lily calls as the doors slide closed.</p><p>She falls flat on the bed as soon as she’s in her room, jet-lag and sleeplessness finally getting the better of her, but her cell buzzes before she can surrender to it.</p><p><em> You get the talk too? </em> Dmitry has sent.</p><p>She smiles, rolling over. <em> yep. Lily’s grounded me. </em></p><p>
  <em> Apparently we’re giving Vlad a stress ulcer. </em>
</p><p>Anya snorts. <em> been doing that since tgt. </em> She looks up at the ceiling, wondering if he’s right above her or miles away. <em> We really owe them christmas bonuses. </em></p><p>Despite the exhaustion, she barely sleeps, and by three-thirty she’s fed up. Because Dmitry’s not there with an arm over her waist or around her shoulder or clinging to Anya from behind, his breathing isn't there to lull her to sleep like it usually does.</p><p>Her alarm goes off too soon afterwards, and then it’s a mad scramble of room service, an outfit shoved into her hands and a PA being assigned to her who keeps giving her moon eyes. It takes an hour to get out of the hotel to the convention centre because of the traffic and cars blocking for every other actor staying there. She can’t even reach for her phone with Lily going over the schedule and the flurry of people around them.</p><p>Anya fights not to bite her nails. It’s going to be a very long day.</p><p>She’s so frazzled by the time she’s guided into the green room she very nearly forgets not to make a beeline for Dmitry. He’s over talking to Sophie, polite smile shaping his mouth. His pendant is tucked into his shirt; Anya touches her own exposed one instinctively.</p><p>His eyes slide over to her instantly, face brightening.</p><p>This is the hard part.</p><p>“Hi.” She smiles, reaching up for a brief hug. “How are you?”</p><p>“Hey, I’m good,” he tells her, and she can feel his relief in how he rubs her back. “Long night.”</p><p>It’s an odd moment, stepping back. She greets Sophie too, who looks curiously at them but has the good grace to not mention the odd tension between them. If anything, it can be taken as them not actually supposed to be getting along very well.</p><p>They play catch up with everyone they haven’t seen in years or months. Dmitry tries to steer her into every conversation, because he knows most of them better than her, beit from guest stints on the same shows or the endless auditions of his youth.</p><p>It’s a disconnect Anya still wrestles with, especially at events like this.</p><p>A PA waves them over before the <em> Cosette </em>panel starts, leading them behind a curtain.</p><p>There’s a moment of it just being them, no cameras and no one watching, waiting for their names to be introduced. Dmitry stands solid and sure behind her, one hand sliding up to squeeze her waist. Anya threads their fingers together and squeezes, sighing when he drops his forehead onto her shoulder.</p><p>She reaches back to comb her fingers through his hair. “Hi,” she says quietly.</p><p>“Hi,” he mumbles. “Having fun?”</p><p>“Would be if we were alone.”</p><p>“We are alone.”</p><p>Anya tips her head back, making him raise his own to meet her eyes. He kisses her, warm, upside down, just for a second. His gaze flickers up, double checking, before he lets her go.</p><p>He clears his throat, looking ahead. Still no call. “Polly asked us to dinner, by the way.”</p><p>“Polly’s here?” Anya frowns. “She didn’t tell me.”</p><p>“Not here, just in town,” Dmitry tells her. “Supposed to be your birthday dinner, so, act surprised.”</p><p>Anya laughs. She’s not great with surprises. “I’ll try.” She has to kiss him quickly once more, hating that they can’t sneak off right now, when her name is being announced.</p><p>Dmitry squeezes her arm and pushes her ahead.</p><p>How ironic for them to hate a situation they put themselves in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2008</b>
</p><p>“What did you think of Zborovsky?” Olga asks far too casually, picking at her salad.</p><p>In Anya’s two day break, her eldest sister had suddenly decided to whisk her off to the city under the guise of catching up. Any other time Anya would have been skeptical, but she was too burned out from filming and dealing with Dmitry on a daily basis to question Olga’s motives.</p><p>Sat having afternoon tea with her now, Anya squints suspiciously. “Katerina? She seems nice enough, why?”</p><p>“Not Katya.” Olga rolls her eyes. “Her brother.”</p><p>Frowning, Anya leans back in her chair and tries to conjure up a face. She vaguely recalls Katya introducing her to someone at a party months ago - tall and broad, dark auburn hair but lighter than his sisters - but it takes her a second to remember his name.</p><p>“Viktor?” She tries. “I only met him once.”</p><p>“And?” Olga presses.</p><p>Anya glares at her. “Are you trying to set me up?” She demands, outraged.</p><p>To Olga’s credit, she schools her face into a neutral look quickly, but Anya grew up knowing every single one of her siblings microexpressions. And Olga’s is currently looking a lot like their mother.</p><p>“Olya, for gods <em> sake </em>-”</p><p>“Nastya-” Olga sighs.</p><p>“You get married and suddenly the rest of us have to settle down, too?” Anya hisses, hot tea sloshing over her hand. Out of habit, she glances around, making sure no is documenting her quiet outburst to be splashed across the tabloids in the morning.</p><p>Composing herself, Anya takes a deep breath. “I love you,” she tells her sister. “And thank you for the - <em> concern</em>, but I’ve got three movies to film before I’m twenty, I don’t have time for <em> anything</em>.”</p><p>“You’re allowed to have fun, Anastasia,” Olga says in a startling impression of their father.</p><p>Anya feels herself blush to the roots of her hair. “We’re not talking about this.”</p><p>Olga laughs just as her phone starts to ring, and by the soft look that passes over her face Anya knows it’s her husband. She just nods at her sister's questioning look, moodily finishing her food while Olga talks to Louis.</p><p>Anya’s stubbornness to start her career so young had meant sacrificing any sort of relationship, even casual ones. The only one she’d had so far was with the son of a family her parents know, was borne out of sheer boredom and barely lasted a month. It’s not exactly an ideal blueprint.</p><p>Still, she pauses when Katya texts her out of the blue a few days later, saying she’s invited to a fundraiser later in the week if she can spare a night and is willing to be Viktor’s plus one.</p><p>Suddenly there’s someone looking over her shoulder. “Working hard, I see,” Dmitry says mildly while reading the texts.</p><p>Anya elbows him in the ribs, ending up half leaning on him when he doesn’t budge. “Aren’t you supposed to be in wardrobe?” She snipes.</p><p>“So are you,” he points out.</p><p>Oh, right.</p><p>“I don’t need escorting,” she tells him, stepping away from him.</p><p>Dmitry frowns, looking like he wants to say something else, then thinks better of it and turns on his heel and walks back to the costume trailer.</p><p>Anya watches him go, annoyance burrowed under her skin, then glances back at her phone.</p><p>Screw it. She’s allowed to have fun.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>2020</b>
</p><p>After San Diego, Dmitry has to stop in Los Angeles to do some ADR work on an earlier project and Anya is whisked back to Scotland, her being on the call sheet the very next day. He returns to Scotland while she’s been whisked off to the Island of Skye for an episode. </p><p>For a married couple that works on the same show together, the universe certainly is keeping them apart. </p><p>“I think the universe is laughing at us,” Anya tells him one night, she’s wearing one of his shirts and nothing else while in her hotel room. </p><p>“I think the universe heard our plan to work together so we could see each other,” Dmitry returns, “And decided to remind us who’s in charge.” </p><p>“Joke’s on them,” Anya says. “Lily’s the one actually in charge.” </p><p>Dmitry doesn’t doubt it. The woman is a dragon, in the best and most efficient way possible. If he hadn’t such loyalty to Vlad, he’d hand control of his life over to her as well. </p><p>It pours for the entire day after, they lose a day of shooting, Anya gets stuck there another night, and Dmitry is trapped in fencing lessons. </p><p>He’s at his laptop, obsessing and perfecting over his father’s old scripts is soothing to him over the years. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll ever be ready to try to get it produced or he’ll forever use it as some sort of coping mechanism. </p><p>Then Anya enters the room, and she didn’t mention anything about returning that day, but she wouldn’t. She likes any element of surprise she can get. She’s wearing a burgundy silk robe he’s never seen before and he knows he’s not the only one that’s been indulging in coping mechanisms. </p><p>Wordlessly, he moves his laptop off his lap and she pounces. Hands gripping his hair, her mouth on his, her legs bracketing his, her hips grind against his. </p><p>“I think the universe separates us,” he says, once he’s able to catch his breath. “So we can reunite like this.” </p><p>“I could greet you like this every time I see you,” Anya counters, her lips against his jaw. “Don’t have to be separated for even five minutes for me to.”</p><p>Dmitry tugs on the sash of her robe but doesn’t open it. “Haven’t seen this one before.” </p><p>Anya has an extensive lingerie collection that started up after their wedding and during the three weeks apart. She said it gave her something to focus on and look forward to. And she just keeps on buying them. He doesn’t think he’s seen all of her collection. </p><p>But she loves wearing them and he loves her in them. </p><p>“It’s new,” Anya confirms, as his hands slide up her thighs. “Lily’s put kid controls on the websites I can visit because she’s afraid if my finances ever get out my La Perla account will look like that budget that included thousands of dollars for candles.” </p><p>Dmitry laughs, pressing a kiss to wear her robe is open. “Worth every penny.” </p><p>“You ripped my last slip,” she reminds him, which is a lie. </p><p>“You ripped your own slip,” Dmitry reminds her. “You’re very impatient.” </p><p>Anya pouts and he kisses it away. She’s beautiful and soft and eager all in one and he’s still not quite certain if she’s real most days. He’s still in awe of her as he was at seventeen. </p><p>“What’re you thinkin ‘bout?” Anya asks, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. </p><p>“How much I love you.” </p><p>“Oh,” she says softly, “That’s very nice.” </p><p>Dmitry laughs. “And imagining what you look like naked.” </p><p>“Shouldn’t have to imagine that,” Anya replies, as he tugs on her sash once more, letting the robe fall open. “Thought you had a photographic memory.” </p><p>“My memory and imagination fail to accurately recreate that reality,” he tells her, pushing the robe off her shoulders and it drops to the floor. She’s wearing a slip of the matching deep burgundy of her robe, material so fine it should probably be insured and delicate gold detailing across her bosom. His thumb brushes against it. “I like this one.” </p><p>“Think it’s my favorite,” Anya agrees as he tugs the thin strap down off her shoulder, his mouth already pressed against her collar bone. </p><p>He squeezes her thigh, it’s muscle firm from the amount of walking and running she has to do in her scenes. </p><p>Dmitry brings his other hand underneath the short skirt of the shift, cupping her. Wants to watch her as she rides his fingers, eyes on him as her breath comes in short pants, her skin flushing to almost match the shade of her nightgown, the feel of her pulsing against his fingers. She bites her lip as she grinds down against his palm, her hands braced firmly on his shoulders. </p><p>Afterwards she rests her forehead against his chest, catching her breath and his shirt twisted in her fists. She wines as he moves his hand from her. “Stay.” </p><p>He has no plan on leaving.</p><p>Dmitry slides his hands under her for support, her legs wrap around him loosely as he carries her. </p><p>“Think I should bring you to our bed for once,” he says into her hair, and she nods in return. </p><p>She kisses him before he can deposit her on the bed, and she’s tugging him with her. </p><p>He remembers being young and his father talking about the great love that was the arts, how it consumes you and allows for very little else. </p><p>Dmitry wonders now if he was referring to his relationship to Dmitry’s mother, but he remembers very little of his mother and so very little recollection of his parents as a couple. </p><p>Vlad had given him a similar warning, an attempt to weasel out of a deal newly made between them. This career will be your first and greatest love and you’ll prioritize it above all others and it can make for a lonely bed-mate. </p><p>As much as he admires both men so integral to shaping who he grew up to be, he thinks they may have been wrong about this.</p><p>In the soft moonlight of their bedroom, bodies rocking together, every breath between them a shared secret, he knows no greater love than that of Anya. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>2008</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing Dmitry gets is an email detailing a new call sheet and filming plan for the day completely different than the updated schedule he had gotten the day before. It’s somewhat normal so he doesn’t think much of it until he’s finally focus on the changes and oh, fuck. Him and Anya have the kiss today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you have to complain about,” Marfa says to him while they’re waiting around for filming to begin. She’s not in this scene but the next and she’s come to watch his humiliation. Anya’s still in the make up trailer, it takes time to make her look poor and plain. “I’d kiss her if I had the chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dmitry looks her up and down. “Don’t think you could pass as me. Maybe if put on some stilts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marfa slaps him lightly on the arm. “I thought you guys would be over your initial animosity but now.” She puts up a hand when he goes to respond. “No I see now, you’re both stupidly stubborn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More like neither of them had the motivation or desire to be friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will be fine, Maroosh,” he promises her. “It’s not my first onscreen kiss.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m aware,” she replies, as she had been his. “Just remember under it all Anya is a fifteen year old girl.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dmitry blinks. “And?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marfa sighs, as the door to the makeup trailer opens. “Just we are all still young.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches over and squeezes his hand before going off to the edges to stand with Dunya. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, and walks over to where he’s needed, the director already there altering where Anya is standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sudayev,” she says, stepping away from Anya. “Start with your line.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya’s looking down at her feet and when the scene starts she looks up. Make up has enhanced her eyes, making them even more a startling shade of blue and doe eyed, her lips are glossy, and every single freckle is covered and blended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she flinches when he goes to touch her, ending the scene before it begins. They re-start the scene and this time he doesn’t touch her but something in her expression makes him second guess himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The director starts walking over but Dmitry holds up his hand. “Can Anya and I have a moment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks between him and Anya for a good long moment before nodding. “Take five everyone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya crosses her arms but follows him to an empty tent. “What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s thinking about what Marfa said earlier. And despite how irritating he finds her on a daily basis, he knows how weird this part of their job can be and they need some level of trust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever kis….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t even let him finish, stepping back with an offended, “Yes!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assumed that,” he says. “I’m asking if you’ve ever had to kiss on screen before.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Anya says, her fingers digging in where her arms are folded. “No. Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see you thinking about it before it happens,” he says. “Willow isn’t thinking at this moment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know Willow,” she tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dmitry resists the urge to sigh. This is why everyone kept urging them to set aside their first impressions and find some sort of understanding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds out his hand. “Truce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya is still regarding him warily and stares at his hand. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not forever,” Dmitry clarifies, “Just for this scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates but places her hand in his and squeezes it once before dropping it like they’re in a childhood game of Hot Potato. “So?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to kiss me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya face turns into a scowl. “Of all the arrogant…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dmitry laughs. “I meant before we have to do it on camera, I know you don’t want to kiss me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” she reiterates, but she is studying him now. “How is your breath?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Polly gave me a stick of gum while you were in makeup,” Dmitry answers. He reaches over to touch his fingertips below her ear like he has before. “Is this okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya doesn’t flinch this time. “Yeah, that works.” She fidgets on her feet. “You’re very tall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zborovsky’s taller,” he points out and she glares at him. “You’re short.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes, and then sighs. “Okay, you may briefly kiss me. Just lips.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, your highness,” Dmitry tells her and then dips his head to kiss her before she can scowl at him again. A brief brushing of their lips, a way to break the ice before they’re in front of a few dozen people and a camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not expecting her to be soft and warm or for the small electric jolt that shoots straight to his chest. He pulls away and tries to recenter himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. This is Anastasia Romanova.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head and walks past him. “Okay, I know what Willow would do. I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya had almost completely left the tent before saying that, so good of her to let him know what was going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone starts getting back to their spot when they see Anya walking back. Someone comes out to reapply Anya’s lipgloss even though it didn’t really change much from their brief kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scene starts again, and his line is barely out of his mouth before Anya’s pulling on the edges of Ronan’s jacket and drags his mouth to hers. He’s startled - thankfully, it works in character, before he reacts, kissing her back, hand cupping the side of her face opposite of the camera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart speeds up and he doesn’t know why, and he barely stops himself from jumping when <em>Cut</em> is yelled. He and Anya break apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knew you guys still had that chemistry locked inside of you,” their director tells them. “We can move onto the next scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya blinks. “No more takes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that was pretty damn perfect,” she says. “Let’s try to keep up that energy so we can all get home before dusk today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The director walks away, and Anya briefly glances over at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not certain what to say or if they should just do what they normally do and go their separate ways without a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anya makes the decision for them, saying, “I don’t really like spearmint.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she walks away, back over to the makeup trailer, her next scene requiring her to be caked in a bit of dirt and mud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that had been completely weird and unexpected.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>2020</strong>
</p><p>The last week of filming is oddly emotional, even knowing they’ll all be back next year. Anya frowns at their half-packed suitcases and boxes scattered around the apartment, everything they’ve accumulated the last few months suddenly out of view.</p><p>She hadn’t realised how much like home it had begun to feel.</p><p>“This is weird,” she says out loud.</p><p>Behind her, she hears Dmitry pad out of the bedroom. “I know,” he says, not needing her to elaborate on what she means. “We’ll be back soon enough, though.”</p><p>Anya leans back against his chest. “Everything will be different then.”</p><p>Their casting announcement had caused enough buzz - especially on Twitter -, coupled with a few well-timed grainy photos of them between scenes, have been enough to spark plot theories and rumours of their so-called feud finally ending.</p><p>Polly keeps sending her tumblr links to photosets of them at SDCC, all tight smiles and touches that linger a little too long. Dmitry had spent half the panel with lipstick smudged on the side of his mouth.</p><p>It’d be funny if it wasn’t a little scary.</p><p>Dmitry’s arms wrap around her shoulders from behind, chin resting on her head. “We’ll manage.”</p><p>Anya pulls a face. “Your optimism is inspiring.” She tips her head back, and bursts out laughing. “Did you steal that from set?”</p><p>He’s wearing one of Finn’s newsboy caps - or flat caps, as they’re called here - the brown tweed one he’s apparently gotten fond of.</p><p>Dmitry tips it at her, grinning. “Yeah. Might buy a few to take home with us.”</p><p>“Well.” Anya takes it off her head to set on her own. “It’d be an improvement from the baseball ones.”</p><p>He just rolls his eyes and bends to kiss her.</p><p>It’s not straight back to LA for them, anyway - Alexei has been keeping tickets on hold for them to his West End <em> Singin’ in the Rain </em>revival since Anya and Dmitry started filming, an invitation they’ve been been dodging until now because of all her siblings, Alexei and Maria have a habit of reading Anya’s whole life on her face with just one look.</p><p>And Anya would much rather break the news about herself and Dmitry with her family in one place.</p><p>“Lex says he’ll leave his spare key under the doormat for us,” Dmitry yawns while they’re waiting in the lobby for a car to the airport.</p><p>Anya smiles, eyes closed. “You know you’re the only person who calls him that,” she reminds him, as she does every single time he talks about her brother. The pair of them have been thick as thieves since Alexei first visited the set of Gehenna.</p><p>Dmitry shrugs, but can’t help looking a little smug. “Maybe it’s a brother thing.”</p><p>“You’re definitely the big brother he never had,” Anya comments.</p><p>“You think he suspects?”</p><p>“Probably that we’re sleeping together, and he loves you too much to give you a shovel-talk.” She pauses. “Or sell us out to my sisters, for that matter.”</p><p>Dmitry winces, and for all his gentle encouragement to tell them, she knows he’s hardly looking forward to their reaction either.</p><p>The flight to London is barely two hours long, and watching Edinburgh get steadily smaller and smaller above the clouds makes Anya’s eyes water, an odd ache in her chest. She fiddles with the chain around her neck while Dmitry frowns at his laptop.</p><p>While they get through customs quickly enough, it takes them forty-five minutes longer than it should to get to Alexei’s. The car rental is in Lily’s name, Dmitry almost causes a pileup after forgetting he’s supposed to be driving on the left, and they miss three turns thanks to Anya’s Google Maps reading skills.</p><p>The flat her brother has been occupying for the last three years is within walking distance of the Palace Theatre, and as promised the key is under the doormat. Alexei has left a note on his coffee table apologising for not being there but he had an early rehearsal, and could Anya try not to break anything until he got back?</p><p>“That was <em> one </em>time,” Anya grumbles.</p><p>Dmitry smiles from where he’s snooping through the kitchen cupboards. “Should I make dinner tonight as a thank you?”</p><p>“To be honest, your cooking is probably half the reason we were invited.”</p><p>“What am I, a Romanov personal chef?”</p><p>“Yes,” Anya says without missing a beat, smiling sweetly.</p><p>Dmitry throws a bag of lentils at her.</p><p>Alexei doesn't get back until after midday, by which time Anya and Dmitry have restocked his fridge and made a meager attempt at tidying up. He grins finding them setting up the couch pull-out bed. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the host?”</p><p>Anya waves a hand. “Force of habit.”</p><p>Dmitry gets to him first, and it’s a very overly dramatic reunion in the middle of her brother's living room, arms tight around each other.</p><p>“How you been, bro?” Dmitry asks gleefully. “Been way too long.”</p><p>Alexei punches him lightly in the stomach. “Maybe if you’d come <em> earlier </em>.”</p><p>“I was working!”</p><p>“A two hour flight away!”</p><p>Anya rolls her eyes. “I’m here too, by the way,” she reminds them.</p><p>Alexei ducks over to her, laughing. “Good to see you too, Nastya.”</p><p>“Clearly.” Anya hugs him hard, instinctively checking him over when he pulls back. He shrugs her off, wearing the same expression as when their mother fusses over him.</p><p>It’s difficult not to, even now.</p><p>“Tell us about the show, how’s it going?” She diverts instead.</p><p>Alexei tilts his head. “Feel like I should be asking you two that.”</p><p>Dmitry seems to have a hard time not looking over at Anya. “How do you mean?”</p><p>“Well,” Alexei glances between him and Anya. “Surprised you haven’t killed each other yet.”</p><p>There’s a slight edge to his voice that makes Anya feel oddly defensive, and more or less confirms that he knows more than he lets on.</p><p>Dmitry seems less concerned, rolling his eyes and ruffling Alexei’s hair as he goes back to the kitchen. “Not kids anymore, Lex,” he says casually. “Got time for lunch before your next show?”</p><p>The subject drops after that, but Anya still feels Alexei watching them - when Dmitry’s hand presses against the small of her back, every time she leans into him and their shoulders bump. She wonders how comfortable they should be in front of him, really, but for once part of her doesn't care.</p><p>They get a few minutes alone before leaving for the theatre while Dmitry goes to find their jackets. Alexei gives her a curious look. “You and him?”</p><p>Anya manages not to freeze, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. “What?”</p><p>Alexei just shakes his head, mouth quirked.</p><p>Now, Anya has always known her brother is the better singer of all five of them, but she’d almost forgotten he can <em> dance </em>, too. The show is a joy, and Alexei is clearly having the time of his life, but Anya’s heart stutters every time he jumps up on a prop or spins in a way that could send him falling. She’d think she was turning into her mother if she didn’t feel Dmitry stiffen beside her every time, too.</p><p>It goes off without a hitch, and by the end Anya has forgotten her own anxiety, heart soaring with pride. Alexei’s practically bouncing with energy when they meet him backstage, eyes shining. A few of his co-stars have suddenly gone shy seeing her and Dmitry, so they usher into her brother’s dressing room.</p><p>“Wait, hold on.” Dmitry grabs Anya’s phone from her hand.</p><p>“<em>Excuse </em>me.”</p><p>“We need a good Romanov sibling photo,” he insists, gently pushing Anya towards Alexei.</p><p>“Really, Dima?” She sighs, but lets him take it anyway.</p><p>They do a round of photos, and Alexei arches an eyebrow at their reluctance to take one with him together. “Do people really care that much if you’re in the same place?”</p><p>Anya and Dmitry give each other a look. “You clearly haven’t dealt with Gehanna fans.”</p><p>They take one with him anyway, uploading it to Instagram alongside Anya’s and Dmitry’s ones with a paragraph of how proud they are of him. Dmitry pulls a face at the comments flooding Alexei’s ones. “That didn’t take long.”</p><p>Anya chooses not to look.</p><p>They decline joining the others for a late snack, the early morning flight and everything between suddenly catching up with them. Dmitry yawns all the way back to Alexei’s flat, and Anya’s too tired to do anything but huddle under the arm he’s got slung around her shoulders.</p><p>“You can sleep in the guest room, too, you know,” she overhears Alexei telling Dmitry while she’s changing for bed.</p><p>In the silence that follows, she can practically see Dmitry’s caught-out expression. “Why would - I don’t -” He grapples.</p><p>“I’m not an idiot, Sudayev,” her brother says seriously. “Apparently the pair of you are, though, if you don’t think you’re being obvious.”</p><p>“Obvious?” Dmitry repeats weakly.</p><p>There’s a sigh, then footsteps down the hall. “Never mind,” Alexei says. “Goodnight, Nastya!”</p><p>Anya grins. “Night, Alyosha.”</p><p>She counts to ninety in her head, listening for the quiet knock on the door before Dmitry slips in.</p><p>“So, I think your brother knows,” he starts with, back against the door.</p><p>Anya laughs. “You think?” She stands up to kiss him, pulling his arms around his waist.</p><p>“Should we tell him the other thing?” He asks, stroking her hair.</p><p>“Unless you want every member of my family to be here tomorrow morning, no.” She fiddles with the buttons of his vest. “When we’re home.”</p><p>Dmitry kisses her again. “When we’re home,” he echoes.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2009</b>
</p><p>Anya thinks her face might get permanently stuck if she keeps smiling. She’s yearning for a lunch break, having been awake since five am answering the same questions.</p><p>Dmitry glances at her over his styrofoam coffee cup while the next round of press sets up. They’ve been doing a good job of ignoring one another, only interacting for the cameras. His eyes narrow a little as he leans forwards a fraction. “You okay?”</p><p>Anya blinks, realising she’s been staring into space for the last few minutes. “Fine.” She clears her throat, not in the mood to make a snarky remark. “Just tired.”</p><p>He looks like he’s about to say something, but an assistant calls for their attention.</p><p>Anya straightens up, forcing a smile.</p><p>It drags in a bad way. The interviewer not-so-subtly flirts with Dmitry and makes a thinly veiled patronising comment about how <em> easy </em>it must have been for Anya to get Willow’s role, “what with your family, and all.”</p><p>And she might be used to people undercutting any of her achievements because of her family, but not directly in front of a camera or her face - the obvious attempt to wind her up for a good story makes her skin crawl. Dmitry stiffens while Anya opens her mouth to defend herself, only to be broken off by an assistant slipping into the room.</p><p>“I’m sorry, can we cut this short?” The woman says, clearly not about to take no for an answer. “Ms Romanova, your agent needs to see you.”</p><p>“Now?” Dmitry objects. Anya barely stops herself glaring at him.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>, now.”</p><p>Anya hurriedly unhooks herself from her mic, avoiding Dmitry’s irritated look.</p><p>If Lily is pulling her out in the middle of a press junket, it only means one thing. Dread rolls in her stomach as she’s led out, flexing her hands to keep them from clenching.</p><p>One look at Lily’s face confirms it.</p><p>Anya grabs the edge of a chair. “Alexei?” She asks weakly, bracing for the worst.</p><p>“His leg again,” Lily explains gently. “His joint locked, you mother wanted you to be told.”</p><p>Some of the knotted anxiety softens, but not by much. He’s okay, or as okay as he can be. “Rehab?” Anya guesses, sinking down before her own legs give out.</p><p>Lily strokes her hair, sighing. “It’s looking that way.”</p><p>Anya nods, closing her eyes. “I need to go home.”</p><p>Lily doesn’t tell her she can’t, just nods. They’ve been through this so many times. “Do you want to go on with…”</p><p>Anya shakes her head. The thought of sitting in that room feigning smiles and making nice with a co-star who hates her is the last thing she wants.</p><p>Lily goes to inform those concerned that Anya won’t be continuing with interviews today, while Anya herself lets all her sisters know she’ll be home as soon as possible.</p><p>For all the secrecy around Alexei’s condition, it’s always all hands on deck whenever something happens to him. No matter what anyone says about the Romanovs, there can never be any denial they don’t care about each other.</p><p>Anya doesn’t know how long she sits there, head in her hands. Lily doesn’t return, probably coordinating travel arrangements, and someone brings her a glass of water at some point. She doesn’t touch it.</p><p>Dmitry enters after what could be minutes or hours, foul mood obvious. Anya sits up, warily watching him walk through the room, fiddling with the coffee machine.</p><p>“If you have something to say,” she starts flatly.</p><p>He huffs, his back to her. “About what, you not having to do any actual work?”</p><p>Anya grinds her teeth. “Not that it’s <em> any </em>of your business, but it was a family emergency.”</p><p>“Right, ‘cause that’s the excuse to get away with everything.” Sarcasm drips from his tone as he turns to glare at her. “What was it this time, your holiday house needs repainting?”</p><p>She’ll be damned if she ever let's Dmitry Sudayev get the satisfaction of her anger, but the cutting edge of his words makes her blood reach boiling point.</p><p>“You know, just because you’re a Romanov doesn’t give you the right to just <em> walk out </em>of junkets and leave it all up to me -” Dmitry is still venting.</p><p>“My brother is in hospital!” She bursts outs, fingers so tight on the edges of her chair that for a second she thinks she might break it. She’s shaking, angry and upset and tired all at once.</p><p>Dmitry has fallen silent. “Alexei?” He asks, blinking, all cruelty gone from his voice. “What - is he okay?”</p><p>Anya scoffs bitterly. “What do you care? We’re just spoiled legacy kids to you.” She can’t look at him, able to see the awkward look on his face trying to grapple with how to navigate having an actual conversation with her.</p><p>He sits across from her quietly, coffee forgotten. He still looks like he wants to argue with her, but for once isn’t following up. “It’s not that -” he tries, faltering a little under Anya’s glare. “I’m sorry, alright? Maybe I shouldn’t - put you in a box.”</p><p>“If this is your apology, it’s terrible.”</p><p>“Feel like throwing me a bone?”</p><p>“Not really,” Anya snipes, then chews her lip. “I know what I am, I know what my family is, but believe it or not I don’t exactly enjoy my name being a golden ticket.” She’s not fishing for sympathy, has no right to it, especially given Dmitry has had to work ten times as hard as her. She’s just <em> tired</em>. “Comments from the press don’t bother me, but if we’re doing two more movies together -”</p><p>Dmitry has the good graces to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he says, considerably more sincere than he had been a moment ago. “Truce?”</p><p>“You’re an idiot.” Anya pauses. “Breath a word of this to anyone and I <em> will </em>ruin your career,” she threatens, only half joking.</p><p>Undeterred, Dmitry holds up three fingers. “Scouts honour.”</p><p>This is probably an awful idea - she keeps secrets for a reason, and she doesn’t want to know what her family or Lily will say should they find out what Anya is about to tell Dmitry. There would be lawyers and NDAs drawn up in minutes.</p><p>If there’s one thing she knows for certain about Dmitry, though, despite everything - he keeps his secrets, too. And Anya is so tired of keeping them alone.</p><p>“Alexei,” she says, clearing her throat. “Alexei has haemophilia.” She gauges Dmitry’s reaction, the surprise on his face as he leans back. It all pours from her in a ramble, a broken dam. “My parents don’t want it public, it’s why they don’t take him to any events and only does commercials, and every time the slightest thing happens to him, everyone’s pulled out of whatever we’re doing because -” she takes a deep breath. “Because they think it’ll kill him every time.</p><p>Dmitry is watching her babble, brow furrowed. “Jesus,” is all he says.</p><p>It startles a laugh out of Anya, bubbles of nerves in her chest. “Yeah.”</p><p>“I won’t - I’m not gonna tell anyone, but -” he studies her for a moment. “I am sorry. For that, and for being a bit of a dick.”</p><p>Anya considers him. “Sure I can find it in me to forgive you. And, um, I’m sorry too. If I ever - treated you badly.” She cringes.</p><p>Dmitry doesn’t call her out on it, knocking his feet against hers. “Does this make us friends now?”</p><p>“God, I hope not.” Anya offers him a small smile. “I’ll settle for civil.”</p><p>“Civil,” he repeats. “Sounds good.”</p><p>Maybe they still owe one another handfuls of apologies, and maybe civility is too light a word for whatever they are.</p><p>It’s a nice starting point, though.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>2020</strong>
</p><p>Their mother is fretting, and Maria isn’t certain why she bothers. To be fair, since the death of Soap Operas- her mother’s crown glory to the forever embarrassment to her mother in laws, her mother hasn’t done much as far as work goes. Her grandmother was an EGOT winner, and the fact her darling son married a Soap Opera star was forever the bane of her existence. As a result she kept a close eye on her grandchildren’s careers, though she had increasing difficulty grasping the ever changing entertainment industry. </p><p>Olga’s medical procedural garnered critical acclaim even though it didn’t actually air on television, so she had learned to be satisfied with that. Tatiana had moved further and further away from the front of the camera and was working her way up to being an up and coming director. Not the way they did things back in Marie’s days but she’d accept it. Maria was the lazy disappointment, too much like her mother, with a resume filled with Hallmark holiday movies. They paid well enough and she only had to act part of the year and spent the rest tending to the business. Alexei enjoyed staying on the stage and had never shown much interest in stepping in front of the camera. </p><p>And then there is Anastasia, Marie’s not so secret favorite. She had a career of critical acclaim and variety. And something important to bring up tonight.</p><p>“Do you think I should invite Viktor?” Her mother asks Maria, who is making adjustments to the menu their mother has planned out. For some reason Alix Romanova Can never remember that Anastasia is her child that hates stroganoff, and her memory translates it to that she absolutely needs to have stroganoff made when her youngest daughter comes to visit. </p><p>“No,” Maria responds. She does not add she feels it would be awkward if the news Anya was bearing is about whoever it was she’d been seeing. </p><p>Anya didn’t tell her she was seeing anyone, but she knows her younger sister and knows there’s someone. </p><p>She’s been taking their mother’s matchmaking suggestions far too easily for months now. It’s not that Anya is a difficult person, but her sister loves to argue and be right. </p><p>“I’m certain he’s in town,” Alix insists, her cell phone in her hand. </p><p>Maria sighs, and reaches over to take it out of her mother’s hand. “He’s in law school, he’s always in town now. Leave Nastya be tonight and let her make her announcement.” </p><p>“Do you know what it is?” Olga asks her before their mother can, as she enters the room. </p><p>“She hasn’t said anything to me,” Maria answers with a shrug. </p><p>“Or me,” Alexei offers as he walks into the living room. “And I just saw her a week or so ago.”</p><p>Alexei was on a week vacation from his show over on the West End and their mother had been besides herself leading up to his return, certain he’d be too thin and close to death. The fact he had come back completely healthy and fine had to be slightly disappointing to her but now with Nastya’s announcement she had found something worth working herself into another frenzy for. </p><p>Maria hands the menu off to a member of staff so the dinner can begin for that night. </p><p>“You look tired,” Alix tells her son, channeling her fretting back onto him.</p><p>Alexei ducks away from her hands against his cheek and grabs Maria’s hand to pull her up. “Probably just the lighting. Excuse us, Masha’s asked for my help.” </p><p>She’s done no such thing but without Alexei there, the fretting will come for her next so she allows her brother to whisk her away. </p><p>“Should we make bets on what Nastya has in store for us tonight?” Alexei asks her as they step onto the porch. </p><p>Maria shakes her head, she’s too smart to take bets she can lose. “She’s too unpredictable.” </p><p>She looks over when she hears a car door shut and sees her sister bent over talking through the open car window before leaning in and turning around. Definitely a boyfriend. </p><p>“Your lipstick’s smudged,” Maria teases as Anya passes, causing her sister smack her on the arm.</p><p>But then Anya stops and turns around to face Maria, and she reaches over and fixes where it’s smudged. No one can tell her she’s not a good big sister. </p><p>“Nonna couldn’t make it,” Maria informs her, as Alexei hugs her in greeting. “She got called away on a work emergency but sends her love.” </p><p>“Work emergency?” Alexei asks, in disbelief. </p><p>Maria had the same thought but decided it was better to not know. She’ll find out in about five months when whatever prestigious show she’s been called to work on starts heavily promoting her guest stint. </p><p>“It’s probably better for her to not be here,” Anya sighs as they walk in. </p><p>“You need a drink?” Alexei asks and Anya nods. </p><p>“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Maria comments, reaching out to pull her hair back. “I stopped Mama’s attempt to serve you stroganoff.” </p><p>“You’re the best,” Anya tells her, taking the drink Alexei made her. “What have you been working on?” </p><p>“Christmas Tree Farm in Vermont,” Maria brushes the question off. “What is your news?” </p><p>Anya gulps down Vodka and soda, “Where’s everyone else?”</p><p>“You’re going to make us wait?” Alexei asks, offended, and gestures between him and Maria. “We’re your favorite siblings!” </p><p>Anya looks him up and down. “I mean sometimes.” </p><p>Maria just rolls her eyes and Alexei reaches over to muss their sister’s hair.</p><p>“Nastya!” Their mother greets her and kisses Anya’s cheeks. “Do you think your brother looks tired?” </p><p>Anya glances over at Alexei. “No, I think that’s just his face.” </p><p>Alexei sticks his tongue out at her in response. </p><p>“Malenkaya,” Their father enters the room as well, placing a kiss on his youngest daughter’s forehead. “It’s been too long.”</p><p>There are hor d'oeuvres spread out through the room, Olga and Tatiana have their heads together, discussing something. </p><p>“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Anya tells them as she picks up something to eat anyway. </p><p>She should know better, she had met their parents after all. </p><p>“There’s seven of us,” their mother responds. “Anytime we’re all together for a meal, it’s a dinner party.” </p><p>“Right,” Anya finishes off the vodka and soda Alexei had made for her. “I have some news for you.” </p><p>“Is it the <em>Cosette</em> projections?” Tatiana asks, taking a sip from her wine glass. “Because I’ve seen them and they’re pretty strong.”</p><p>“No, but thank you,” Anya says, biting her lip. And then. “So, I got married.” </p><p>Maria chokes, Alexei laughs, their father spills a bit of their drink and their two oldest sisters just sort of look like fish. </p><p>Well, it’s a very good thing Maria talked their mother out of inviting Viktor. Despite her sister’s history with him, or because of it, she knows he’s not exactly the elope without the family there type. </p><p>“What?” Is their mother’s reaction. “Anastasia, when?”  </p><p>“We can probably still get it annulled,” Olga offers, her cell phone already in her hand. Always read to fix things. </p><p>“No,” Anya directs this to Olga and then answers their mother’s question. “April.” She looks like she wants to say more but leaves it at that. </p><p>“We are all missing an important question,” their father says, strangely calm. “Who did you marry, Nastya?”</p><p>Maria gasps, Alexei’s head whips to look at her and it’s a race for them to try to be the one who says it first but it’s more or less at the same time. </p><p>“Dmitry.” </p><p>It’s Anya’s turn to look stunned. “How—“</p><p>As if Anya has time to meet anyone else, and while her sister had always been reckless and impulsive, no one brought that out in her more than Dmitry Sudayev. </p><p>Olga interrupts her, still researching on her phone. “Where did you get married? You were in...Greece in April, right? You should make sure the marriage is valid here.” </p><p>Anya is biting her lip, so there’s a lot more to the story she’s not trying to say. Maria understands why when she speaks. “It was in Vegas.” </p><p>“Las Vegas!” Her mother exclaims, calling on those twenty years she spent on a soap opera for her reaction. “Anastasia, of all the tawdry things you could do- you elope with a boy you hardly know in Las Vegas?”</p><p>Considering Anya’s known Dmitry since she was fifteen, he would hardly count as a boy she hardly knows. </p><p>Tatiana is frowning because she has an excellent memory of dates and trips and keeping track of the entire family. </p><p>Maria half hopes she doesn’t say it out loud, because their mother may suffer an aneurysm if she does.  </p><p>Her older sister says it anyway. “You were in Vegas in April of last year.”</p><p>There it it. </p><p>“Anastasia Nikolaevna,” Alix says and their father reaches over to hold her hand. “You’ve been married for two years and have said nothing?” </p><p>Her sister looks very much like she wants to argue it wasn’t quite two years but wisely keeps her mouth shut about that. </p><p>“Where is Dmitry now?” Nicholas asks, still attempting to sooth his wife. “He should come over for dinner.” </p><p>“We can arrange for that,” Anya says, and she must love him to try to shield him from the shit show that this night will be. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you all, it was only supposed to be a secret for a little bit and then it got away from us. Well, a secret from you all.” </p><p>“Who else knows?” Olga asks. </p><p>“Just the people who were in Vegas with us,” she says. “And Vlad and Lily, so they could be on the lookout if it started to come out.”</p><p>“Lily knows?” Their mother is literally clutching her hand to her chest. “And she’s said nothing to any of us? Does your grandmother know?” </p><p>“Not yet,” Anya says. “And we aren’t going public with this yet, so…” </p><p>“Okay,” Nicholas says, standing up. “Let’s take a brief break before dinner. Nastya, come with us, and the rest of you mingle amongst each other. And not a word to your grandmother until your sister can get a hold of her.” </p><p>“Which sister?” Alexei whispers to Maria and she tries not to giggle. </p><p>Their father sighs, if he didn’t overhear then at least he got the gist what they were most likely saying. “Until your sister, <em> Anastasia </em>, can get a hold of her.” </p><p>Maria would feel bad for her sister as they led her away but she should also have realized the outcome for keeping a secret like that for a year and a half. </p><p>She takes out her phone to text Dunya. <em> Were you ever going to mention my sister got married? </em></p><p><em> So you guys could shoot the messenger? I don’t think so </em> is her quick reply. </p><p>Maria joins her brother at the bar cart. It’s going to be very needed for a night like this. </p>
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